In The Light
by Gurl6
Summary: Misery isn't so bad when you can wallow in it with someone special. (AU, No Supernatural)
1. One

Furious knocking startled Bonnie awake. Bolting upright, she yanked the small revolver from under the seat and deftly cocked the hammer in one fluid motion. Weeks of precarious living had conditioned her to sleep light and be prepared for anything. No precious seconds wasted blinking away cobwebs.

She'd already pinpointed the direction of the noise and her fierce gaze focused there. The car windows were tinted dark enough to shield the interior from view, but she'd left the driver's side cracked to catch the May breeze. A man was peering inside and his aura screamed danger.

"I have a gun." Bonnie stated loudly and calmly, belying the fear thrumming in her chest.

"I have a deed." The man countered sarcastically, but wisely stepped away from the window. "You're on private property."

Demoralized and embarrassed, Bonnie scrambled into the driver's seat and fumbled for the ignition. She'd cased the building for an hour before mistakenly deciding it was abandoned. It had looked like a secure place to park for the night, especially being on the edge of a popular and trendy downtown strip with a low crime rate. The blue Prius had fit perfectly next to a rusty blue dumpster in the back of the building but apparently the attempt at camouflage hadn't worked.

"You need any help?"

The reluctant offer came with a hint of pity, amplifying Bonnie's shame. Gun in her lap, she cranked the engine, threw the car into reverse and whipped it towards the alleyway, shaking as she checked the rearview mirror. The full moon was luminous, casting the man in an eerie glow. He stood in the middle of the lot watching her escape, a long metal object in one hand, the other stroking the head of a massive wolf.

Heart pumping wildly, Bonnie zipped the car down the alley and onto a street that was still busy with activity. The further away she got, the more her fear abated, allowing room for self-pity. It was rare when she gave into the hopelessness of her situation, but she wallowed in it now, great heaving sobs racking her too slim body as she drove around the city. In that moment, she was tired of being strong and desperately wished for someone to lean on. Desperately wished for her grandmother's wisdom, her nurturing, her loving hugs. Bonnie cried harder.

It was nearly three in the morning when she cautiously pulled into the empty lot of a synagogue and parked alongside a small bus. Praying she'd be hidden from view this time, Bonnie wiped away the tears and blew her nose with a crumpled fast food napkin. As she hid the gun away and prepared to bed down in the passenger seat again, she relived some of the sage and comforting advice she'd received from her grandmother during the more challenging moments of her life. And thinking about that brave, wise woman boosted Bonnie's waning spirits, sparked her determination again and helped her finally drift into much needed sleep.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Damon Salvatore watched in stoic silence as his small corner of hell received a thorough inspection. It wasn't as if you could hide anything in the open and depressingly empty space. It was just brick walls and gritty floors. But the man doing the inspecting was the embodiment of by-the-book and he examined every square inch of the old two story warehouse with extreme diligence.

The man paused in front of the meager possessions pushed to one side of the room. Hands on hips, he shook his head as his bemused gaze bounced from the aged wood ceiling to the tall windows caked with dust. "Nice dump you got here."

Shrugging, Damon crossed his arms and propped the sole of a scuffed combat boot on the wall he was leaning against. "The dump comes with an address."

"Meeting one of your requirements doesn't mean you have to live like _this_."

Damon was unmoved, but he silently gave dude props for the concern. As far as parole officers went, Alaric Saltzman was decent. Tough yet fair and he actually treated Damon with respect, a contradiction to all the horror stories he'd heard. Their first meeting had been legendary, a masterful pissing contest with lots of wiseassing and a brodacious matching of wits. Under different circumstances, they could probably be friends. But as the laundry bag holding all the clothes he owned was rummaged through, the degradation Damon felt meant their relationship would remain strictly shoe and dirt beneath shoe.

After a check under the mattress of a narrow cot, Saltzman was finally satisfied. He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through contacts. "I can recommend a couple of halfway houses. They're not the Ritz, but they're better than this place."

Damon had already spent four years sardined with a bunch of men in varying stages of hope, anger and despair. He wasn't about to give up peace and privacy for that agony again. "I'm good."

"Have you considered going to the VA?"

"Score a felony conviction, they take away your benefits."

"Just the pension. There are other resources."

His military career was a sore subject and Damon killed any further conversation with a blank look and the firm set of his jaw.

"Alright." Saltzman relented with a frustrated grunt, shoving the phone back in his pocket. "But the offer of the halfway house is open. How's the job going?"

"It's a job." Damon responded dryly. Assembly line work was tedious, but it was in his best interest to remain gainfully employed. Being a model parolee the next eleven months meant he would eventually be free from his legal woes. "We done here?"

Saltzman got a kick out of Damon's attempt to get rid of him. "Hot date?"

"How's that any of your business?"

"Everything you do is my business until the state of Virginia decides otherwise."

The display of power was a stinging reminder of who was really running this show.

"Yeah that's it…hot date." Damon's tone was thick with sarcasm and self-deprecation. Like he really had anything to offer a woman besides his dick.

Sighing, Saltzman dropped the enforcer act. "Salvatore, I'm not one of those POs who goes to the extreme policing your personal life, but you do realize there'll be more of these home visits? That I have to make sure you're walking the straight and narrow? Not hanging with bad actors?"

 _For fuck's sake._

"That doesn't mean I expect you to be a pariah. Positive human interaction can be good for ex-cons trying to reintegrate into society. Speaking of." The pontificating was replaced with more concern. "Have you talked to your brother since you've been out?"

Damon gave him the death stare.

"Sorry I asked." Saltzman raised his large mitts apologetically. "We're done here."

He saw himself out, footsteps echoing heavily on the steps leading downstairs. Damon smirked with satisfaction when he heard a girly yelp followed by thunderous swearing. He was stretching out on the cot when the monster loped into the room and sprawled on the floor next to him.

"Did the dick pee himself? Hmm? Good boy."

Damon ruffled thick fur and scratched a pointy ear. He'd found the dog, some mutt breed of Husky, lying in a pitiful heap near his front door. There'd been bloody scrapes on his emaciated flank and wretchedness in his pale eyes. If he'd been healthy, he might have given Damon the business, but starvation could render even the most vicious beast feeble. Offering scraps had initiated a bond and made Damon a caregiver at a time when he'd barely been able to feed himself. Fast forward several months and they were best buds. The once anemic canine was now a menacing behemoth, capable of intimidating smartass parole officers and keeping trespassers at bay.

Speaking of trespassers…

Propping his head on a couple of lumpy pillows, Damon got comfortable as he grabbed his smart phone and did a web search for "four sticks virginia beach". Several results populated for a diner on the water front, an area he'd frequented before. He mapped out the best route in his head as he dropped the phone on his chest and closed his eyes. Given his situation, the last thing he needed to do was go looking for trouble. But Damon's soul was miserable. Like a wounded animal's or a homeless young woman's.

And misery loved company.

* * *

 **Author Note:** * **sigh** * I have a serious case of writer's block with two scenes in the next chapter of "Something Real", so this was my attempt to get my creative juices flowing. It helped. Not sure when I'll continue this because I'm focusing on SR, put wanted to put the new toy out there anyway. Thanks for being patient with me and as always, thanks for reading.


	2. Two

The guy at table seven looked Sons of Anarchy dangerous. With his food delivered, he'd basically been ignored by the rest of the wait staff so Bonnie absorbed him into her already busy section. Being the new girl at the Four Sticks Café, she wasn't going to whine about another server neglecting a patron, not when said server was training her. Then there was that thing where she desperately needed the cash. Getting fired was not an option while she still made her home in her car.

The guy's behavior screamed unapproachable though. Once he had his classic burger with steak fries and a beer, he was good. His attention was divided between his dinner, a battered paperback copy of _The Odyssey_ , and the view of the Atlantic beyond the busy boardwalk.

"There might be some cute under all that bush." Robbie commented at the beverage station where he and Bonnie were filling drink orders. "He's got killer eyes, but that outfit's seen better days."

She'd only been here two weeks and Bonnie already had this one pegged as a snooty, materialistic man child on the prowl for diamond life dick. Was as dumb as the clay dirt he probably ate too, in spite of being pre-med. She gave him a plastic smile and hefted the tray of Coronas and margaritas high to deliver to the booth directly across from mystery guy.

After dropping off the drinks and taking an order for appetizers, Bonnie stopped at seven again. He was sweeping hair off his forehead and the glint of a silver dog tag attached to the wide brown leather cuff on his wrist caught her eye. See? He was military or former military and now the aloofness made sense. Probably the result of too many tours of duty and horrors she couldn't even imagine.

She pitched her voice high to counter the indie music blasting from the overhead speakers. "How're we doing here?"

Vivid blue eyes swung her way and Robbie was right. He'd be cute if you took a weed whacker to all that long dark hair and the thick beard. And she might need these tips, but if dude kept staring at her like that, Robbie could have his table back.

"Can I get you anything else?" Bonnie asked with emphasis.

His regard was too intense not be interpreted as interest, but what _kind_ of interest? This wasn't some cursory scoping out, his eyeballing was blatant.

"Just the bill." He actually smiled at her, if that faint tilt at the corner, closed-mouth thing could be called a smile.

She hurried off and braced for another round of ogling when she returned to drop off his bill, but he was off into his book again. The influx of new customers and pain shooting up her legs and back pushed him out of Bonnie's thoughts until she noticed the now empty table being cleared. The tip he'd left was exceedingly generous and Bonnie was pissed that she'd have to share it with Robbie and the busser.

At evening's end, Bonnie's nerves were as frayed as the rest of her and even knowing she'd have to sleep in her car wasn't enough to slay the joy she felt at clocking out. All that joy fled when she saw danger guy leaning against the Prius as he took in the action on the avenue. Sitting down, he'd just _looked_ dangerous. Now he seemed more menacing standing under the harsh street lights. The clothes might be plain, but the fabric of the gray T-shirt was stretched across chest and arms that were ripped. Lots of damage could be done with those muscles.

Instinctively Bonnie's hand went to the small can of mace she kept in her cross body, though rationally she was blowing off this second encounter as just coincidence. There was no way he could know that he was leaning against _her_ car. But then he saw her approach and pushed away from the passenger door like he'd been expecting her. His stance was passive, arms relaxed at his sides as a warm gust flung dark strands across his face. Bonnie's heartrate quickened as she stopped a few feet away. The parking lot was well lit, located between the café and another bar. People were walking through to get to the nearby establishments. He wouldn't try anything with all these witnesses. Would he?

"Hey." His tone was deliberately soothing when he noticed her distress. "Don't freak out, alright?"

Her laughed was strangled and humorless. "You asking me not to freak out means I should probably freak out."

He held up a hand. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Bonnie eased the mace out and backed up. A couple who were walking by eyed them with caution, slowing down as they continued to glance back.

"A few nights ago, you were in your car. Outside my place." He recounted, trying to jolt her memory. His gaze shifted to their audience then back to her again. "I asked you if you needed any help, you told me you had a gun?"

 _Lord, take me now_.

Bonnie's face was hot as she shoved the mace back into her purse and blinked back tears.

"Hey, it's cool. Don't be embarrassed."

Oh it was way too late for that.

"What makes you…how do you even know that was me?"

He tapped a pec, eyes zooming in on her yellow work shirt and Bonnie glanced down at the Four Sticks logo stitched on the breast pocket. She'd been sleeping in it the night she'd parked behind his building. He must have gotten a really good look at her before she'd finally woken up.

"Are you okay?" Someone yelled behind her.

Bonnie sighed as she turned and waved the couple off with forced pleasantness. "Yeah, I'm fine."

And she was confident in her reply. She didn't sense any malevolence on his part, outward appearance aside. If she'd been in his position, she'd have probably sought her out too. Human suffering was hard to ignore unless you were born heartless.

"I don't think sleeping in your car constitutes 'fine'." He said as he watched the couple finally walk off.

Add a side of anger to go with that humiliation. Bonnie yanked out her keys, holding one defensively just in case as she edged towards her car, voice trembling. "I'm sorry I trespassed on your property, but you don't know me. You should leave before I start screaming my ass off."

"If you need any help -"

"Don't need your help."

Hands on hips, he watched her lower herself stiffly into the Prius. Actually came to the passenger side as she was cranking up the engine and yelled at her through the window.

"If you need somewhere to go, my place is safe. Crime usually ramps up around this time of year, you should be careful where you park."

For the second time in their fledgling "relationship", Bonnie peeled off and left him standing in the spot where the Prius had been.

And she didn't really believe in fate, but she had a feeling she'd be seeing him again.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Fuck fate. Bonnie quit the waitressing gig to check groceries. It paid shit wages, but at least her legs weren't jelly by the end of her shift and that guy wouldn't know where she worked. Every time she thought about his offer of help, she felt humiliated all over again. And more determined than ever to improve her circumstances.

Unfortunately, the shit wages weren't enough income to qualify for even an efficiency apartment. She could work a second job, but just thinking about that possibility exhausted her. With the onslaught of the tourist season, sleeping in her car and washing off in public restrooms was getting dicey. And when she just couldn't take it anymore, she splurged on the cheapest hotel room she could find for a week. By the end of it, she was broke again, having recklessly blown through her little stash for wants instead of saving for needs. The hot showers and lumpy bed had been worth it though and her hair was squeaky clean for the first time in weeks.

In June, the weather was still mild but being closed up in a car elevated the temperature at least another ten or fifteen degrees. After a couple nights sweating it out, Bonnie swallowed her pride on a muggy Saturday, went to a shelter and waited in a long line of fellow indigents for a bed. She lasted three hours. Sleeping among crying babies broke her heart and there were too many suspect men roaming around. Or maybe she was just being paranoid.

She was back in her car and prowling the city for a place to park. By the fourth circuit, she was an emotional wreck, teetering on the edge of a complete nervous breakdown. Police were out in force because of the season. Bonnie would try to pull into a space only to be told to move along. Vagrants who'd been chased from the nicer areas were sleeping in the church parking lots and she wasn't about to risk being accosted. Neighborhoods were a no-no after a homeowner had spotted her and threatened to call 911. The hotels were manned by security guards and valets. And people were _everywhere_. Walking everywhere, partying everywhere, loitering everywhere, why didn't people go the hell _home_? If she were blessed with one, she'd never leave.

A desperate little voice in the back of Bonnie's sluggish mind reminded her that 21st street was only a block away. Pride was begging her not to even go there, but she'd already nodded off twice while driving and she was so _weary_ , weary of her situation, weary in spirit. The weight of months of living hand to mouth pressed down on her and all she needed was a little rest to rejuvenate, to find the strength to keep fighting.

Just one night and then she'd make a new plan in the morning.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Elena showed up early Saturday evening. Damon had been glaring out the window, hellish memories fucking with his head, when he spotted her crossing the street. Hadn't seen her in years, but the heartbeat picked up like always and he had a sudden, inexplicable flashback of his tongue swirling in her quim. Legs forever long, skin glowing, dark hair dancing in the late June breeze. Still beautiful, still a threat to his sanity.

Blending into the shadows, Damon warned the beast to be quiet and listened as knocking echoed from downstairs. He wavered between not wanting to see her and wanting to see her. Old feelings resurfaced, old longings. Sex would be very much welcome after his stint of forced celibacy. She could be had if the letters he'd received during lockup were anything to go by. Tales from home and how-are-yous laced with underlying desire. Bad boys had always been her drug.

 _Wonder if she's still banging baby brother_.

The knocking ceased. Damon tracked Elena as she rounded the building's rear, where she'd probably spied his car, then tracked her back to the front where she knocked another five minutes before finally giving up. She disappeared back the way she'd come and he became lost in his thoughts again until the activity on 21st drew him back out.

Natives and tourists flowed up, down and around the block. Muted music drifted from the bar across the street and if he were chilling on the fire escape, as he sometimes did, he could probably smell the seafood from the eatery next door and the salt air wafting from the ocean. Before Damon had gone to prison, this area had been like a ghost town. Now it was bustling with shops, restaurants, revitalized bungalows and a new hotel sprang up on the waterfront every month it seemed. Despite the lure of the eclectic neighborhood, he rarely ventured out, most often spending his downtime brooding, sleeping or tinkering with the Camaro to get her rolling cherry again.

On the street, a blue car zoomed by and took a corner at the light. Wrong model but right color and Damon gave its significance about a second of contemplation. He'd stopped checking the back of the building for the girl several weeks ago. She wasn't his problem. He'd done the honorable thing in making sure she was okay, she'd rejected his help. His conscience was clear and that's where their story would end.

A cooler sat on a metal table in the center of the room. He snagged a beer, turned on the portable radio and guzzled inferior hops as Soundgarden relieved the space of silence. After contemplating his surroundings, he could finally see it through Saltzman's eyes. Maybe a woman's. This place _was_ a dump. He should put some effort into making it more livable since he'd be here for the long haul.

Venturing into one of the empty back offices, where remnants of a once thriving business were piled high, Damon searched for something salvageable between air-guitaring and wailing off key.

 _Black hole sun,  
Won't you come  
And wash away the rain?  
Black hole sun,  
Won't you come?  
_ _Won't you come?_

The beast's growling had nothing to do with Damon's imperfect pitch. He went on full alert, sneer aimed at a window as the snarling deepened.

"Quiet, boy. _Stay_."

Damon sidled over and peered outside expecting to see Elena again or worse, his brother. Instead, he saw the Prius sliding behind the dumpster and seconds later, its headlights went dark. He couldn't help the smug smile. Streets must be pretty hard if she were seeking shelter here.

As the beast stretched and settled down nearby, Damon went back to searching through the dusty relics, swigging and humming, his mood…odd…as he thought about his guest.

Their story hadn't ended after all.


End file.
